These precious manuscripts he rolled together in a bundle, and placed carefully in his doublet, and then seizing a beautifully-wrought brass casket, that stood beneath the table, he swept the jewels in, secured it, and strapped it to his belt.
This brisk and important little affair being over, he arose to go, and in turning, saw the skeleton porter standing in the door-way, looking on in speechless dismay.
"It's all right my ancient friend!" observed Sir Norman, gravely.

"These papers must go before the king, and these jewels to their proper owner." "Their proper owner!" repeated the old man, shrilly; "that is La Masque.
Thief-robber-housebreaker--stop!" "My good old friend, you will do yourself a mischief if you bawl like that.

Undoubtedly these things were La Masque's, but they are so no longer, since La Masque herself is among the things that were!" "You shall not go!" yelled the old man, trembling with rage and anger.
"Help! help! help!" "You noisy old idiot!" cried Sir Norman, losing all patience, "I will throw you out of the window if you keep up such a clamor as this.

I tell you La Masque is dead!" At this ominous announcement, the ghastly porter fell back, and became, if possible, a shade more ghastly than was his wont.
"Dead and buried!" repeated Sir Norman, with gloomy sternness, "and there will be somebody else coming to take possession shortly.

How many more servants are there here beside yourself ?" "Only one, sir--my wife Joanna.